Ripped
by Leytima
Summary: Yes, life goes on after the Battle Of Hogwarts. But it's different for some people, especially for George Weasley.


**A/N: Because we all wanted to see George's thoughts on his brother's death.**

**Or not.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. The title belongs to JK Rowling**

Time passes and, almost unconsciously and subconsciously, George keeps track of every minute that passed. Every second seemed to drag slower and slower, even slower than the long hand on a clock. Very slow, but almost tauntingly, just a tick away from being slow enough to freeze time all together.

Time is something valuable to almost everyone. To some people, time is a substance that slips between the cracks that separated the monotone and the exuberant. But for George Weasely, time is just another burden to carry on his frail back. And everyday, as his back becomes weaker and weaker, the burden piles higher as he remembers all the things he can no longer do.

He has to remember that he can no longer pause in the middle of a sentence, trusting someone to finish it. He has to remember that no longer will his voice be followed along with another voice in a usual unison. It will just be his voice. And for the Weasley twin, it doesn't seem right at all.

He has to remember that he doesn't have to run to their shared bedroom to reach and claim the top bunk first, because there is no one to fight over it with. He has to remember that he has to do his laundry every week, not just every other week, because there is no longer someone to alternate the load with.

He has to remember that when he gets a great idea for a new joke, he can no longer turn to tell it to someone. Yes, George can tell it to Ron or Ginny, but there was and always will be only one person who could really understand and value the genius of the idea. And now that the person is...absent, the boy drowns in the pride himself. The pride is only half full, as if expecting for the other to come and fill it.

Sometimes, when it was just one of those days when it seems like Death had punished him for a crime George wasn't sure he committed, he would count all the sins he had done and mentally weigh them with the loss of his brother. Unsurprisingly, the sins' side was too light, making Fred's side of the scale sink down.

When he looks in the mirror, he doesn't see himself, nor does he see Fred. No, George sees a lifeless being. Too corpse-like, too empty, too shattered to even be human. And George can't break down into tears. Tears, he decided, were too meaningless to be shed in this situation. And furthermore, nothing can break down what is already destroyed.

Frequently, George would lock himself in their room, and stay there for hours, to put the mask he wore all day to rest. That was okay for everyone, better, even. In Molly's eyes, in a mother's eyes, she would rather have her son stay there all day. In their room, George could stop the façade, and truly let himself let out a real emotion.

When someone dies, the fools mourn only for the departed.

When someone dies, the wise mourn for the departed's companions.

Surviving was much more torturing than dying. When Fred died, he committed the most lachrymose crime only the closest of two people can do.

He didn't steal George's soul, he tore it in half, and left with one half, the other weary, longing, and sick.

Molly didn't knit a sweater with an 'F' on the front that Christmas, and she never will again, and George thinks it's fitting. It shows that they all know that who was once here will never be here again. It shows that they won't pretend that Fred was just coming home late for Christmas Eve.

But that doesn't stop George from occasionally glimpsing at the door of their joke shop, as if expecting Fred to walk in with a giddy grin on his face.

Seven years later, as George stares at his day-old son, he feels as if the baby was reminding him of something.

It was strange. The boy had inherited the Weasley connect-the-dot freckles, but that was about it. He was more like Angelina, with the dark brown hair and tanned skin. But there was something about the baby, probably the hearty gurgling noises he made, that gave George a bittersweet force of nostalgia.

But then the baby brings out a crooked, saliva-coated smile up at his father. An intoxicating grin that makes every parent feel blessed, watching their child smile. But for George, it was more than just a blessed feeling. His breath nearly knocked right out of his chest as he notices that the baby's smile reflected the same kind George and Fred made when it was their birthday, or when Arthur announced good news from the Ministry. A smile than can make them seem as innocent as they could get, the glint of a jokester hidden beneath the paint of genuine joy.

The smile George wasn't comfortable using for the last seven years.

George wasn't sure if he was just seeing things, but he decided to name his son Fred. It wasn't to replace the late brother, it wasn't to pretend that there was no twin, and his son was the one and only Fred. He thinks it would honorable to be named Fred Weasley the Second. Because it means that the baby will grow to be a strong, brave, adult. Just like his late uncle, his namesake.

And to be honest, George did miss seeing the yellow 'F' on a home knit sweater every Christmas.


End file.
